Dawn broke over Crafter's Haven in streaks of gold and amber, illuminating the ancient ruins with the promise of a new day. Mike stood at the eastern gate of his reinforced perimeter, checking the supplies in his pack one final time. Three months of living in this world had taught him to be methodical about preparation—a lesson that had saved his life more than once.

  "Ready to move out?" Morin asked, approaching with his own pack secured across his broad shoulders. The broken Forge Hammer hung from his belt, carefully wrapped in protective cloth but visible enough to remind them of their mission's purpose.

  "As ready as I'll ever be," Mike confirmed, adjusting the weight of his supplies. "Nott and Trolley know what to do while we're gone?"

  "Aye. The elf's setting up additional observation points in the towers, and the woman's reinforcing the trap network. They'll keep the Haven secure until we return."

  Mike nodded, satisfied with the arrangements. After a full day of preparation, the four had decided that splitting their forces made the most sense. Mike and Morin would journey to the eastern mines for the star-forged iron needed to repair the Forge Hammer, while Nott and Trolley would remain behind to strengthen Crafter's Haven's defenses against the inevitable Zengrid return.

  As they prepared to depart, Trolley hurried up to them, carrying what appeared to be a small metal container. "Almost forgot—I modified some of your boom sap into more stable charges." She handed the container to Mike with a grin. "Figured you might need something with a bit more kick than standard explosives where you're going."

  "Thanks," Mike said, carefully securing the container in his pack. "Hopefully we won't need them, but..."

  "But one should always be prepared," Nott finished, approaching from behind Trolley. The tall elf wore a simple leather cuirass now, with a longbow and quiver strapped across his back. "The eastern mountains harbor more than just metal deposits."

  Mike's expression grew serious. "You mentioned potential dangers. What exactly should we be watching for?"

  "Zengrids rarely venture into the mountains themselves," Nott explained, "but they've released mutated creatures throughout the region. The Ki energy has transformed the native wildlife into... problematic variants."

  "Six-limbed predators, multi-eyed burrowers, the usual delights," Trolley added with grim humor. "Nothing you haven't handled before, but in greater numbers."

  Mike exchanged a glance with Morin. "Sounds familiar. I've dealt with my share of mutated wildlife while gathering resources." His mind flashed back to his journey to the mill where he'd fought the Phase Mantis for the special wood, and then the harrowing trip to the crystal mine in the northwest. "The blue crystals I collected for the Void Ripper trap came from a mine to the northwest. Never saw what guarded that place though—the crystals were left in an abandoned cart, and I managed to grab them before whatever lurked in the darkness caught up to me."

  "Lucky," Morin grunted. "Most Crafter resource sites have dedicated guardians. The mill where you got the special wood—that Phase Mantis you described fighting—that's more typical of what the Crafters employed."

  "The eastern mines won't have guardians quite that formidable," Nott assured them, though his tone suggested caution nonetheless. "The Crafters reserved their most powerful constructs for their primary resource sites. The star-forged iron deposits were considered secondary resources, though still valuable."

  "Don't get overconfident," Trolley warned. "Secondary doesn't mean unprotected. And the mines have been abandoned for centuries—who knows what's moved in since then."

  Mike nodded, appreciating the warnings. His experiences in this world had taught him never to underestimate any potential threat. "We'll proceed carefully. According to the map, how long should the journey take?"

  "Two days there, one day to locate and extract the star-forged iron, two days back," Morin answered promptly. "If all goes well."

  "Which it never does," Mike muttered, though without real pessimism. The dwarf chuckled in agreement.

  With final farewells exchanged, Mike and Morin set out through the eastern gate, following a path that wound through the gradually rising foothills toward a range of mountains visible on the horizon. Though not nearly as imposing as the mountains Mike had crossed to reach the volcanic region months earlier, they still presented a formidable barrier—jagged peaks that tore at the sky like the teeth of some enormous beast.

  Their pace was steady but measured, Mike adjusting to Morin's shorter stride while the dwarf demonstrated surprising stamina. The morning passed in companionable conversation, with Mike learning more about his new ally's background and the resistance movement they served.

  "My family has been smiths for twelve generations," Morin explained as they navigated a particularly rocky section of path. "Started with traditional dwarven metalwork, but my great-grandfather was the first to recognize the Zengrid threat and join the early resistance."

  "And the Forge Hammer?" Mike asked, nodding toward the wrapped tool at Morin's belt. "How did your family come to possess it?"

  Morin's expression grew solemn. "Legend says our ancestor, Durin Stonehammer, was present at the Fall of Olden Keep—the last battle before the Crafters vanished from our world. A dying Crafter entrusted the hammer to him, made him swear to keep it hidden until it was needed again."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "That must have been centuries ago," Mike observed. "Your people live that long?"

  "Not quite," Morin chuckled. "Dwarves are long-lived compared to humans—two hundred years is common—but this was nearly a thousand years past. The hammer has passed from generation to generation, along with the oath to guard it."

  "And the break? How did that happen?"

  A shadow crossed Morin's features. "My father attempted to use it against a Zengrid warlock who discovered our family's secret. The hammer's power was impressive, but incomplete without its matching ring. The backlash shattered the handle and..." he paused, his voice tightening, "cost my father his life."

  Mike fell silent, recognizing the pain in his companion's voice. After a respectful moment, he asked, "So repairing it isn't just about accessing the Smith's ring. It's personal."

  "Aye," Morin nodded grimly. "Very personal."

  As the day progressed, the terrain grew steadily more challenging. The gentle foothills gave way to steeper slopes covered in loose scree that shifted treacherously underfoot. Vegetation became sparser, hardy mountain shrubs replacing the meadow grasses of the lower elevations.

  By mid-afternoon, they had reached the first true pass—a narrow gap between two towering rock formations that marked the boundary between foothills and mountains proper. As they paused to rest in the shadow of the eastern formation, Mike's Tactical Positioning skill activated automatically, highlighting potential ambush points and defensive positions.

  "This would be a good place for an attack," he observed quietly. "Limited escape routes, high ground for ranged attackers, natural bottleneck."

  Morin nodded approvingly. "You've a warrior's eye. That's exactly why we should move through quickly rather than lingering."

  No sooner had they resumed their journey than Mike's instincts proved correct. A high-pitched chittering came from above, followed by the rattle of dislodged stones. Both travelers looked up to see several creatures scuttling along the rocky walls of the pass—vaguely spider-like in form, but with the distinctive modifications of Ki influence. Each had eight legs ending in hooked claws, bodies covered in bony plates, and multiple eyes arranged in clusters rather than pairs.

  "Rock crawlers," Morin grunted, drawing a heavy hand axe from his belt. "Nasty buggers, but not especially dangerous unless they swarm you."

  "Which seems to be their plan," Mike added, counting at least eight of the creatures converging on their position. His hammer was already in hand, the ancient tool seeming to hum with anticipation of the coming conflict.

  The first crawler dropped from the wall with surprising speed, landing directly in Mike's path. It was larger up close—about the size of a large dog—its mandibles clicking together as it prepared to attack. Mike's Tactical Positioning skill highlighted its vulnerable points: the joints where legs connected to body, the softer underbelly, the central eye cluster.

  With practiced efficiency, Mike swung his hammer in a controlled arc, connecting solidly with the creature's head. The impact shattered its protective carapace, sending it sprawling. Before it could recover, Mike delivered a finishing blow to its exposed underside.

  Beside him, Morin displayed the compact power typical of his race. His hand axe moved with brutal precision, severing the legs of one crawler before splitting its body with a powerful downward strike. "Keep moving!" the dwarf shouted. "We don't want to get surrounded!"

  They fought their way forward through the pass, working together with an efficiency that belied their short acquaintance. Mike's construction-hardened strength and newly acquired combat awareness complemented Morin's generations of warrior training. The crawlers, while numerous, proved relatively fragile when struck precisely.

  As they neared the eastern end of the pass, a notification appeared in Mike's vision:

  ```

  [SKILL LEVEL INCREASED: Tactical Positioning Level 2]

  Enhanced ability to identify optimal attack vectors and predict enemy movements.

  ```

  The skill's advancement manifested immediately, revealing not just where enemies currently were, but projecting their likely movement patterns. Mike could now anticipate which direction the crawlers would come from next, allowing him to position himself more effectively.

  "Three more coming from above left!" he called to Morin, who immediately shifted position to cover that approach. The dwarf's eyebrows rose slightly, impressed by Mike's prediction as the crawlers appeared exactly where indicated.

  The battle ended as suddenly as it had begun. After losing nearly a dozen of their number, the remaining crawlers retreated, scuttling back up the rock faces and disappearing into crevices. Mike and Morin stood back to back, weapons ready, waiting to ensure the attack was truly over.

  "Well handled," Morin said finally, lowering his axe. "You fight like someone with far more experience than a few months in our world."

  Mike shrugged, checking a shallow cut on his forearm where one crawler had managed to score a hit. "Construction work isn't that different from combat sometimes. You learn to be aware of your surroundings, to anticipate problems before they become dangerous, to react quickly when something goes wrong."

  They continued through the pass, emerging onto a wider trail that wound higher into the mountains. The sun had begun its westward journey, suggesting they had perhaps three hours of daylight remaining.

  "We should find a defensible position to make camp before nightfall," Morin suggested, scanning the rugged terrain ahead. "The creatures here become more aggressive after dark."

  Mike nodded, his Tactical Positioning skill already highlighting several potential sites. He pointed to a rocky outcropping about half a mile ahead, where a natural overhang created a sheltered space with limited approaches. "That looks promising. Good visibility, easily defended, natural roof."

  "Good eye," Morin approved. "Let's make for it."

  They reached the outcropping with an hour of daylight to spare, giving them time to establish a proper camp. The overhang proved even better than it had appeared from a distance—deep enough to provide shelter from the elements, with a natural chimney-like vent that would allow for a small fire without excessive smoke accumulation.

  As Morin gathered fuel for their fire, Mike set about creating simple alarm systems around the camp's perimeter—arrangements of loose stones that would clatter if disturbed, trip lines fashioned from the cord he'd brought, small bells salvaged from Crafter's Haven attached to strategic points.

  "Your trap-making skills are impressive," Morin observed, returning with an armload of dry wood. "Is that something from your builder class, or did you learn it here?"

  "Bit of both," Mike replied, finishing the last alarm. "Back on Earth, I studied how mechanical systems work as part of my construction training. Here, with the interface system and leveling, those skills have been enhanced considerably."

  Once the fire was burning steadily and a simple meal prepared from their provisions, the two settled into the comfortable conversation of travelers sharing shelter. The mountain night grew cold quickly, making the fire's warmth all the more welcome.

  "Tell me about your world," Morin said eventually, poking the embers with a stick. "This 'Earth' you come from. Is it very different from ours?"

  Mike considered the question, staring into the flames. "In some ways. We don't have magic or systems that let people level up and gain skills instantly. No elves or dwarves, just humans. Our technology is different—more advanced in some areas, less in others." He paused, memories of home washing over him with unexpected intensity. "But people are similar, I think. They build, they fight, they try to protect what matters to them."

  "And you have a family there," Morin said softly. "You've mentioned them before."

  "My wife, Sarah, and my son, Jeremy." Mike's voice caught slightly. "He's fourteen—or was when I last saw him. Might be fifteen by now, depending on how time flows between worlds."

  "That's why you're helping us," Morin observed. "Not just out of goodness, but because you need the Crafters' knowledge to find your way back."

  "Is that wrong?" Mike asked, looking up from the fire.

  Morin shook his head emphatically. "Not at all. The purest motivations are often the most personal. I fight the Zengrids because they killed my father and threaten my people, not from some abstract principle. Your desire to return to your family gives you strength that mere idealism never could."

  They lapsed into companionable silence, each lost in private thoughts as the night deepened around them. Mike took first watch, his enhanced perception scanning the darkness beyond their small circle of firelight. Nothing threatened their rest, though distant howls occasionally echoed between the peaks—reminders that they were far from alone in these mountains.

  When Morin relieved him for the second watch, Mike settled onto his bedroll, exhaustion from the day's journey and combat catching up with him. As consciousness faded, his thoughts turned to the challenges still ahead—finding the star-forged iron, repairing the Forge Hammer, accessing another of the Crafter's rings.

  One step at a time, he reminded himself. Just like building a structure—foundation first, then walls, then roof. They had a plan. They had skills. They had determination strengthened by personal stakes.

  Tomorrow would bring them closer to their goal, one way or another.

  Sleep claimed him fully, dreamless and deep.